


Never Shine Through

by rufferto



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Foreshadowing, M/M, Sad, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufferto/pseuds/rufferto
Summary: Steter Week 2017-25th - Established relationshipTheir relationship was always difficult, always a battle. It would only end in heartache. Peter can't help but see Stiles one last time before he leaves Beacon Hills Forever





	Never Shine Through

“What I’ve felt, what I’ve known  
Never shined through in what I’ve Shown  
Never be, Never see  
Won’t see what might have been.  
Never free, never me  
So I dub thee unforgiven."  
  
-“Unforgiven” - Metallica

Peter sighed.

He should have trusted his instincts. He should have just left. There was way too much crazy shit happening right now. He could smell the wild hunt. He could smell the Dread Doctors. He knew he had to get out of Beacon Hills as soon as inhumanly possible. He also didn’t want to alert anyone to his departure by getting to his bank accounts or residence. He’d do that when he was half way across the globe. He knew this.

Then why was he heading to the one place he shouldn’t be?

He stopped right outside the Stilinski house and sensed something was terribly wrong. He didn’t get close and stood downwind. He smelled blood and heard Stiles swearing, but it wasn’t Stiles’ blood. He should have been long gone.  He shouldn’t be wanting to see the boy one last time.

His sense of self-preservation was a lot better than this.

He strolled casually up the sidewalk, he didn’t sense anyone else in the general area. Stiles was alone and vulnerable. Perfect timing. He went through the back door, since he knew where the hidden key was.

Rain started to fall.

Peter crept through the living room. He could hear running water and Stiles’ frantic muttering.  He kept going. His wolf became excited much to his chagrin. He prided himself on control and yet this boy, this _one_ boy.

He shuddered.

He checked the room. Stiles’ room was a mess. Everything was tossed around as if a hurricane went through it and Stiles was in the bathroom. Peter picked up one of Stiles’ t-shirts and stuffed it into his coat pocket.  He prowled to the bathroom.

Stiles’ was crying. They were utterly wretched sobs that shook his whole fragile human body.

The smell of blood woke Peter’s dark side. The side that wanted to rend and kill. He licked his teeth and his mouth parted into a slight ‘oh’ expression. It was such a power rush, the knowledge of death, the smell of blood and the desire to claim a kill. Peter loved it. It was a unique feeling. He could smell it on Stiles as he got closer and could also sense that Stiles was completely rejecting that feeling. A person who wasn’t a killer would get that. They would know remorse. They would know they could never wash the blood away from their hands or their head.

Peter opened the door of the bathroom just a touch.  Stiles hadn’t even heard him. He was naked, shivering and trying to scrub his hands raw of blood that wasn’t there.

Peter cleared his throat. “Hello Stiles.”

He saw Stiles freeze and smiled.

This was also a drug, the fear of knowing that you were in the presence of a killer. A man without remorse for the lives he had taken in the heat of revenge. A man whose very presence could reduce you to jelly. He gleefully read the body language, he still affected Stiles. The boy briefly panicked but he didn’t shrink back. Peter liked that. In spite of the raging fear, Stiles refused to back down. It was an endearing sort of courage.

“No, N-no… y-you’re locked up. I don’t have to deal with you anymore.” Stiles muttered to himself. “I’m seeing things.” He shook his head, trying to deny Peter’s presence.  “Get ahold of yourself Stilinski.”

Peter stepped closer.

“That’s it, stop!” Stiles looked up defiantly. “Leave me alone!” His cry was desperate and he looked almost feral. “You’re not Peter!”

Peter reached out and took hold of Stiles’ shoulder. He drew the boy into his arm and felt him crumple and sob. “You don’t want to be alone.”

“No, N-no…But- “

Peter didn’t ask what happened, that wasn’t what Stiles needed. He wrapped his arms around Stiles and held him close. It didn’t matter that was free, he knew Stiles wouldn’t tell a soul. All that mattered was that he was there when Stiles needed him the most. He was there and no one else was. He dried Stiles off and carried him to the bed. He laid him down and pulled a blanket over him. “I’ll get you something to drink.” He stood to leave but Stiles grabbed his hand.

“Don’t.” Stiles shook his head. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not leaving, I’m just getting you something to drink.” Peter responded gently.

“If you leave and don’t come back I know I’m crazy.” Stiles bit his lower lip. “Stay.”

Peter smirked, “You’re not crazy.” He left the room anyway and went to get Stiles a drink. When he came back up Stiles was out cold, sleeping peacefully. He set the drink down and stared at the boy with a sigh. He moved about the room, readjusting furniture and setting everything back into its proper place. He sat down on Stiles’ desk chair and stared at the beautiful boy as he slept fitfully. He’d already made the decision to leave. If he stayed he would only cause more pain. If Stiles was in his right mind, which he wasn’t, he’d be screaming at Peter to leave.

“I can’t stay, Stiles.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “But I can help make sure you sleep.” He reached over and took some pain away. 

“Peter-..” Stiles whispered. “Stay, Asshole. Don’t leave me again.”

Peter sighed, sure for the first time in his life that he was doing the right thing, and that irked him a little. Their relationship was a series of volatile situations that didn’t have a future. He knew that. Stiles knew that. Nine days out of ten Stiles hated him and on the tenth day, he was a disappointment. He watched until Stiles was safely sleeping again. He didn’t know who it was that Stiles had killed and he didn’t care.  He saw the scar on the back of the boy’s neck and that was enough for him to know it had been self-defense and necessary.

He sighed when he stared at Stiles. He’d betrayed him and ended any possibility of anything ever happening between them again. He knew that. He just wished that there was something he could do to change it. Unfortunately, there wasn’t. This was the one good thing he could do.

“You’ll be alright without me.” Peter watched the boy for a little while longer, etching his memory into his brain. “You’ll hardly know I’m gone.”

Wishing was stupid, he decided. They were what they were, a cautionary tale. A man in love with a boy who hardly knew what he wanted. It was doomed from the start. He leaned down and kissed Stiles gently. As usual, Stiles’ lips were difficult to resist. Soft and intriguing. He wanted to press his tongue past them and wake up the boy, but he didn’t.

“Don’t forget me.” Peter inhaled the boy’s scent deeply and stood.

Peter walked away from the Stilinski house and squared his shoulders. He could do this, he could leave Beacon Hills. He could have a good life far, far away from this thrice damned town. He paced briefly and kept walking. He knew he was doing right by Stiles. He knew that leaving was the only decision he could make.

Lightning crackled in the cloudless night sky.

He looked up in annoyance. The stars winked down on him, jeering with bright little twinkles like they were taunting his decision. He shuddered slightly. He had to find a car and get the hell out. With a determined set to his chin, Peter jimmied the lock of a car he’d found hurriedly. He tried not to keep glancing over his shoulder.

Something was coming. He could smell the change in the air.

Just before dawn broke he heard the crack of a whip.

*

Stiles bolted up out of his bed. He couldn’t remember why he was in his bed in the first place. He didn’t remember much about coming home. He shuddered. What had happened? Soft words echoed in his brain. The last thing he remembered was being in the bathroom, cleaning off the blood.

_“Don’t forget me.”_

Stiles touched his lips. He had a strange feeling that someone had been there. A person he knew he missed. He shook his head and stretched. The pain was less. His shoulder didn’t ache as much. As he got ready for school he couldn’t help but think back to those words.

Who had said that?

Stiles couldn’t remember. It must have been a dream. After a while he dismissed it, he had to get to school and deal with Scott, Theo and this whole mess. That part was real. That part was something that wouldn’t go away after a good night’s sleep. He was running out of time.

_“Don’t forget me.”_

He already had. His life was too crazy to remember a pair of phantom lips and body as beautiful as sin. He didn’t remember the nights they had shared. The sex. The fighting. He didn’t remember how sometimes Peter was vulnerable and screamed in the dead of night about fire and his sister. He didn’t remember how Stiles was the only one able to calm Peter down. He didn’t remember how angry his father had been when he found out one day that Stiles had a boyfriend much older than he was.

He didn’t remember being thankful that his father never found out who it was.

The only person who had known was his best friend, and Scott had understood. Scott had always understood him. Until now. Until Theo.

“You don’t need to think about someone who exists only in your dreams.” Stiles told himself in the mirror and he didn’t have the time to remember as things went from bad to worse.

**END** 


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